


Practice Makes Perfect

by AZGirl



Series: Musketeers - Season 3 [8]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Episode: s03e07 Fool's Gold, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:27:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7207802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZGirl/pseuds/AZGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As d'Artagnan watched Aramis shoot, he thought about some of the interrogations that he had been a part of through the years. Spoilers for 3.07 Fool’s Gold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice Makes Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> I had not planned for this story to get so long, but with real life creating delays, it gave me time to think of more scenarios. I hope you enjoy!

**ooooooo**

_“I’ll ask you again… Where is he?”_

_~~~~~~~d’Artagnan, 3.07 Fool’s Gold_

**ooooooo**

The first time d’Artagnan was ever a witness to an interrogation by the Musketeers, the man he had once thought had murdered his father was only hours away from being executed for crimes he hadn’t committed. 

At the time, he’d had no idea what to think of their methods in getting Dujon to break and tell the three of them all he knew. He had only known the men for a handful of hours, and with Porthos and Aramis being almost complete strangers to him, d’Artagnan hadn’t any idea just how violent they might get with Dujon. 

One thing he was fairly certain of was that they wouldn’t outright kill the only man who could lead them to the real culprit behind the crimes attributed to Athos. 

Porthos and Aramis were obviously very loyal to Athos, and would do anything and everything they could to keep the man from being executed in the morning. Their loyalty to Athos and their determination to prove his innocence was what finally convinced him once and for all that the older Musketeer was not in any way responsible for his father’s death. 

It’s why, when Aramis threatened to shoot the Red Guard, that the Gascon believed that the Musketeer would not actually harm Dujon. 

Yet, despite that certainty, Aramis and Porthos were so convincing that he could not help but be concerned for the man’s safety. He couldn’t help but be anxious over the idea that the obviously-cowardly man might still choose to remain silent and another innocent person would die. 

For the briefest of moments, he truly thought that Aramis would follow through on his threats. And for one breath-taking moment as the musket fired, he thought he would see red begin to pour from Dujon. 

But there was no blood. 

However, the damage had been done. Dujon had been thoroughly convinced that his life was in jeopardy, and the Red Guard suddenly became extremely eager to provide the information they so desperately needed. 

Finally, he knew the name of the man who had killed his father in cold blood – Gaudet. 

As they rode towards where Gaudet was encamped, d’Artagnan reflected on how masterful a performance his two new acquaintances had put on during their interrogation. He wondered if he could ever learn to be as good as Porthos and Aramis were at questioning people. He then reminded himself that he was just a farmer with delusions of skill with a blade. Interrogating someone was a skill he would never have use for on the farm. Shaking his head at his errant thoughts, d’Artagnan quickly put them out of his mind. 

At the moment, finding his father’s killer and proving Athos’s innocence were all that mattered. 

ooooooo 

“Our little boy is all grown up,” Aramis said as he wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. 

“Never thought we’d see the day,” Porthos added as he put a stop to Aramis’s attempt to use him as a human post to lean against. 

D’Artagnan shot a glare in their direction, but it only made Porthos laugh and Aramis grin as if he were the cat who got the cream. 

Just when d’Artagnan thought his friends were past treating him like an apprentice, they did something to make him feel as if it was his first day all over again and not the fully commissioned Musketeer that he actually was. He knew he was too prideful at times; it was part of his Gascon heritage after all, but did they really have to belittle him every chance they got? How did that teach him humility? 

D’Artagnan wanted to say something, confront them, but if what their captive had just told him was anywhere close to being true, then Athos was quickly running out of time. His first lone interrogation and the information he’d managed to trick his captive into revealing was about a plot against Athos. He didn’t have time to get into it with his fellow Musketeers. 

Stopping part way between his friends and the man they’d caught acting suspiciously outside the garrison, he was about to tell them of the danger to Athos, but instead he turned back towards their captive. Without saying a word, d’Artagnan let loose a powerful right hook which left the man completely unconscious, blood dripping from his lips. When he strode passed the two older Musketeers, d’Artagnan saw that their faces were frozen in shock in reaction at what they had just witnessed. 

As he made his way towards their horses, he wholeheartedly hoped that the minor delay would not cost Athos his life, but couldn’t help but grin at the memory of his friends’ expressions. Perhaps now they would be more likely to treat him like an equal. 

ooooooo 

“I think you should do it,” Porthos said as they all stood shoulder-to-shoulder, watching from across the room as their prisoner attempted to free himself from his bindings. 

Apparently, the man wasn’t smart enough to realize that he was trying to escape in full view of those who had captured him. It was either that, or he didn’t care. All four Musketeers had each already privately decided that it was the former more than the latter. 

Shocked at the suggestion, d’Artagnan rounded on his friends. “What?! No!”—he gestured towards their prisoner—“That man is larger than Porthos and Labarge put together. He’s just going to laugh at me.” 

“He won’t laugh,” Aramis said. “Besides, you need the practice.” 

D’Artagnan crossed his arms and let out a huff of frustration. Despite the fact that he did indeed need practice in interrogation, he was fairly sure that his so-called friends were playing some sort of prank on him. 

“He’s not going to tell me anything. It’s a—” 

“D’Artagnan,” Athos said in such a way as the Gascon realized that he was not going to get out of having to interrogate such an intimidating man. 

“Fine,” d’Artagnan said, resigned to the fact that he was likely to get nothing but some rather colorful curse words from the near-giant of a man. 

The young Musketeer took a deep breath and strode towards the prisoner, determination oozing from his every pore. 

The other three Musketeers couldn’t hear what d’Artagnan said, if anything, but it didn’t matter for their prisoner began laughing and wouldn’t, or couldn’t, stop. In between, their prisoner did indeed curse a blue streak until the man could barely catch his breath between his words and his bouts of laughter. 

D’Artagnan did an about face and went back to his friends, his expression bordering on thunderous. 

In a far too controlled tone of voice, a voice that promised retaliation, d’Artagnan said, “I told you that he would laugh.” 

“That you did,” Aramis said, nodding his head. “I’m sorry.” 

“No you’re not.” 

“You’re right; I’m not.” 

“Me neither,” Porthos said, clapping a hand to d’Artagnan’s back as he passed by the younger man. “Thanks though for getting him ready for us.” 

With a wide grin on his face, Aramis followed after Porthos, who was making a show of loosening up his muscles, as the two of them made their way towards their prisoner. 

He had no idea what expression was currently on his face, but when he turned it towards Athos, his best friend’s face softened, and the man put a hand to the back of his neck, squeezing at the tense muscles there. 

“I am truly sorry.  I didn’t realize their plan until too late,” Athos said. Then he tipped his head towards their friends. “Watch.” 

Less than five minutes later, their prisoner had given up every last piece of information he held regarding a plot against the King. 

Evidently, their prisoner didn’t know that Aramis and Porthos don’t take too kindly to people who laugh at their little brother. 

ooooooo 

He sees the punch coming and is able to roll his head with it enough so that the hit is only a glancing blow. It still hurts, but does not draw any blood. 

“This is not how I wanted my evening to go.” 

D’Artagnan snorts in disgust. “I know how you wanted your evening to go,” he says to Morellet, who is in charge of an illegal smuggling ring. Before he was taken captive, Morellet had been dragging a too-young girl towards a private bedroom in the back of a tavern. 

Morellet smirks and then shrugs. D’Artagnan wants to wipe that smirk permanently off the man’s face, but can’t for the moment because he’s sitting on a wooden chair, his wrists tied to it with rope. He tests the tightness of the ropes as the man before him asks, “Who are you looking for?”—Morellet gestures to one of is two hired men, who slips a rope around his neck—“Redon, yes?” 

D’Artagnan says nothing and Morellet gestures again. Suddenly, the rope tightens until he can no longer breathe. For the most part he remains calm, but his body can’t help but panic a little when his lungs become desperate for air. 

Just as Morellet begins to speak again, the rope goes slack and he can breathe once more. He struggles to pay attention to the older man’s words as he gasps for air. 

“Does Redon think that we have to through him to move our cargo?” 

Once his lungs are no longer struggling, d’Artagnan says, “I thought Greuze was in charge of the export business.” 

Morellet begins to chuckle. “A front. Your outdated information betrays you, Musketeer. It’s obvious you’re just another second son of a worthless, inbred noble.” 

“You think I’m a noble?” d’Artagnan asks with a deceptively calm voice. 

The hired man, rope still in hand, uses it to jerk his head back, exposing his throat. He can’t quite see what the other hired man is doing, but he can hear a knife of some kind being removed from its sheath. 

Morellet comes within his line of sight just as he’s handed a dagger by his other hired man. 

“We don’t need Redon to move the cargo,” Morellet says as he begins to press the point of the dagger into d’Artagnan’s neck. “Your dead body will be a message to—” 

From out of nowhere, a disembodied voice interrupts the man’s threats. “D’Artagnan, we need you to come in.” 

The dagger moves from his neck as Morellet and his two men turn and attempt to figure out where the voice is coming from, and whether or not they are under attack. 

“Surely you’re jesting,” d’Artagnan says, raising his voice. “I’m working.” 

“This takes precedence,” the well-known, to him anyway, voice says. 

As d’Artagnan replies, he makes sure to not look in the direction of where he knows the voice is coming from. “I’m in the middle of an interrogation, and this moron is giving me everything.” 

Morellet sputters and stutters out words of disbelief, before saying, “I’m not giving you anything.” 

D’Artagnan spares his captor a look of irritation for interrupting his conversation with his friend. 

“You can’t pull me out of this right now—” 

“It’s Athos and Porthos,” the disembodied voice says. 

The captive Musketeer’s face goes slightly pale before he shakes his head slightly and all expression drops from his face. 

“Give me a minute,” d’Artagnan says before suddenly exploding into action. 

D’Artagnan kicks his leg out, knocking Morellet to the ground, who begins howling in pain. He then gets up from his chair, revealing to the two hired, but momentarily frozen, men still standing that he is no longer tied to it. While his friend had kept his captors distracted, he had finished working his hands free from the ropes, waiting for the right time to act. This was that time. 

He quickly grabs the chair and swings it to hit the man who had tightened the rope around his neck. Rope man drops to the ground like a lead cannon ball with pieces of the now-broken chair landing on top of him. 

D’Artagnan quickly removes the rope from his neck and grabs the largest piece left of the chair. He then hurls it towards the other hired man in order to distract him while moving forward to kick Morellet in the head, preventing the man from picking himself up off the ground. He then swiftly snatches the pistol Morellet is wearing at his waist. Before he can be stabbed in the back, he shoots the no longer distracted man in the chest. 

He takes the time to look around, making sure the other two men won’t be getting up again any time soon. Seeing that both men are thoroughly unconscious, his body’s tense muscles relax ever so slightly. 

As he walks towards the exit, d’Artagnan asks, “Where are they now?” 

Aramis falls into step with d’Artagnan. “We don’t know.” 

“Are they alive?” he asks, his voice cracking and betraying his emotions. 

“We think so,” Aramis replies. “I’ll brief you on the way back to the garrison.” 

D’Artagnan bumps shoulders with Aramis. “Thank you ever so much for your help back there.” 

With a wide, cheeky smile, Aramis says, “From what I could tell, it looked like you had everything well in hand.”—he briefly lays a hand on one of d’Artagnan’s forearms—“Remind me to check your wrists when we get back.” 

As they go out the door, Aramis gestures for the waiting Red Guards to go inside. “Take them to the Châtelet.” 

Aramis puts an arm around d’Artagnan’s tense shoulders. “Don’t worry. We’ll get them back.” 

ooooooo 

This was going to be their third attempt at getting information out of the henchman who had helped to kidnap Athos. So far, the man had been resistant to their previous attempts at interrogation. 

There had been no ransom demands; in fact, there had been no demands or word of any kind. They had been lucky to stumble upon the man they had caught shortly after they had begun a thorough search of the vicinity for Athos. 

D’Artagnan had been awakened before dawn by a dream that had left him with a sense of foreboding and in the hours that had passed since, that dream had become a nightmare. Athos was missing and they had no other clues as to how or why anyone would take him. 

Yet, with each passing moment, the bad feeling that had awakened him that morning kept progressively getting worse. If they didn’t find Athos soon, d’Artagnan feared that they might never see their friend and brother alive again. 

The idea that Athos might die was a thought that he could not, _would not_ , abide.  

Before he could even think about what he was going to do, it was done. He had charged ahead of Porthos and Aramis and had locked himself in the room with their prisoner. 

Five minutes later, he unlocked the door and stepped out in the hall where his two friends were waiting for him. He couldn’t bring himself to look at either of his fellow Musketeers as he carefully shut the door. 

“I know where he is,” he quietly said as he turned to head down the hallway and out towards the stables. 

Silence followed his declaration. Aramis and Porthos neither said anything in response nor did they immediately follow in his footsteps. D’Artagnan’s imagination, however, was able to fill in the uncomfortable silence. 

He could imagine his friends staring after him, rooted to the spots at which they’d stood when he had come out of the room. 

D’Artagnan could picture them looking at each other in confusion, wondering what d’Artagnan could have said or done to make their prisoner talk when they could not, especially when he knew that the two men could not have heard a thing through the thick, wooden door that had separated them. 

He could see them suddenly becoming concerned about just how far he had gone in his quest to find Athos, the two knowing just how much the older man meant to him. 

When he heard the door to the room open, d’Artagnan paused in his steps and listened. 

Seconds later, he heard, “I swear I’ve told him all I know! Please…I don’t know no more. Keep that maniac away from me. I swear to God I don’t know no more. No more…no more…” 

When the prisoner trailed off, he resumed walking. 

D’Artagnan had left their captive in perfect health – at least, physically. Mental health was an entirely different story. If the amount of urine was any indication, he had left the man in that room frightened _more than_ half out of his wits. 

He took a deep breath and slowly released it, deciding to no longer think about how he had acted in that room. D’Artagnan never thought he would ever become the person he had been in that room. He was frightened of that version of himself, and was certain that he never wanted to be that way again. The toll it took on his soul was much too high a price. 

But it was for Athos, and he would likely do it again if it would save the life of one of his brothers. 

ooooooo 

Since the war had begun, the stakes were higher than ever before. Interrogations were no longer something where they could have a little bit of fun with their captive. Every successful interrogation meant that the life of at least one of his brothers-in-arms might be saved. 

He had yet to interrogate one of their prisoners of war, but his fellow Musketeers’ lives depended on him getting some actionable information. 

D’Artagnan had been sent to scout ahead and survey, but not engage, the enemy. After a while, he’d heard water flowing nearby and had changed course in order to water his horse and refill his empty canteen. 

Deciding to stretch his legs, he dismounted a short distance from the water so that he could walk the rest of the way. He’d just passed through a copse of trees and had practically come face to face with a Spaniard who had apparently had the same idea as him and was watering his own horse. 

Letting his horse’s reins drop to the ground, he trusted the animal not to wander off as he stealthily approached the man who had his back to him. However, at the last moment, both of their horses made some sounds, which ended up giving away his position. 

D’Artagnan managed to attack before the Spaniard could shout an alarm to whichever of his comrades might be nearby. A short, but fierce fight ensued, but he succeeded in subduing the man, staying the killing blow just in time when he remembered that the soldier could be of use to him. Perhaps the Spaniard had some valuable information which might help prevent more of his brothers-in-arms from dying. 

Wary of more Spanish soldiers coming upon them, d’Artagnan began to consider his next step. 

He didn’t think he would be able to get his prisoner back to camp without being spotted, so he would have to risk an on-the-spot interrogation. To avoid being heard, he dragged his prisoner as close as possible to the rushing waters of the river, hoping the small waterfall would be enough to hide any sounds that were made. 

There would be no time for finesse, no time to convince the soldier to talk. Instead, he would have to resort to a level of violence which he could hardly stomach the thought of, despite having been in the midst of several major battles where cannon fire could tear a man in half. 

Every blow he delivered to the man, he felt as well. Not just in the physical sense as his hand struck the soldier’s flesh, but in his soul. He knew the war would be difficult, but he hadn’t counted on the level of depravity that a man – that _he_ – could sink to. He hadn’t counted on how the war would change him. 

D’Artagnan ended up having to inflict more damage than he had anticipated or had wanted, but he got some information he knew would be valuable to his Captain. 

It was several days before he found out that his information had saved many French lives, which would allow his fellow brothers-in-arms the chance to see at least one more sunrise. 

But at what cost to his soul? 

ooooooo 

As d’Artagnan watched Aramis shoot a glass off the head of one of Grimaud’s men, he thought about some of the interrogations that he had been a part of through the years. 

Some he was embarrassed to think about, while others made him feel ashamed. Still others he would rather never think of again. 

Regardless, he had learned a lot over the years and felt confident that they would get the information they needed. 

Grimaud would not get away with his attempt on the King’s life, nor would they let him get away with what the man had done to Athos. 

“Brujon, come here.” 

ooooooo 

_The end._

**ooooooo**

**Author's Note:**

> I freely admit that I repurposed the majority of one of the interrogation scenes from a more recent movie. Can anyone guess what the movie was and/or what character was originally in d’Artagnan’s position?
> 
> Many thanks to Celticgal1041 for all of her help; all remaining mistakes are my fault. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
